


Friday Night at Jimmy's

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Big Gay Freakout™, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, actually a normal fic, it just exists, please just read this I'm desperate and gay, wowza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 10:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10462863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: "Congratulations. You sure as hell aren't straight."It's late Friday night, and Patrick is at a small bar called Jimmy's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know what you're thinking. 
> 
> "Andy, did you actually write a fic that's not crack?"
> 
> Okay, maybe you're not thinking that. But yes. Yes I did. Here's a Normal Fic for you guys, because why the hell not. 
> 
> I'm even already starting chapter two, so maybe I'll actually update this someday. What a concept. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It's late Friday night, and Patrick is at a small bar called Jimmy's. It's a nice place, and also way out of the way of anyone he knows. It's perfect. 

The tall, faux-blonde bartender with too much makeup has been trying to chat him up all night, but he's not having any of it. He swears if it were any other night, it'd be fine, but right now it's just annoying. 

Someone else walks in through the door, takes the seat next to Patrick, and loudly says "Hey, bartender, can I get a beer? And not that stout you gave me last time, that was horrible and we both know it."

The bartender turns away from Patrick (she was trying to make a nice comment about his eyes), scowling. "Oh, you again."

Patrick turns to the guy next to him, who's currently giving the bartender a look of discontent. He pushes a piece of his mess of hair out of his eyes ( _wow_ , they're blue, and Patrick is definitely only staring because they're interesting), and responds, "Yeah, me again. What'd I ever do to you?"

The bartender huffs, gives him a "you know what you did" look, and goes to get him a beer. 

The guy turns to Patrick and starts talking to him like he's known him for years. "Sorry about that. She hates my guts. How's your night going?"

"Uh..." Patrick blinks, surprised. "Interestingly."

"Cool." The guy nods, turning back to the bartender as she brings his beer. He grabs it and takes a sip, nodding in approval. "Yes, Carol, this is much better. Thank you."

"It's Sheryl." The bartender mutters, eyes flicking between him and Patrick warily before going to serve another customer. 

"What's up with her?" Patrick asks, frowning. 

"She owns the place, and she thinks I've been...disruptive in the past." The guy laughs and jabs his thumb at a couple at a table behind him that are violently making out. "I wasn't any more disruptive than those two, thank you very much."

"Uh...okay. Sorry I asked." Patrick mumbles, shoving another tater tot from the plate he ordered earlier into his mouth. 

"She's just an ass." The guy says with a laugh. 

" _I heard that!_ " Sheryl yells angrily from across the bar, and the guy just laughs. He has a really nice laugh, Patrick thinks. 

Patrick needs to come up with something better to call him than "the guy" (until he gets his name, at least), so he decides on Sheryl's Enemy. Not much better, but it works. 

"So, what brings a guy like you to such a dump as Jimmy's?" Sheryl's Enemy asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Patrick frowns. A guy like him? _What does that even mean?_ "Uh...I don't think this is exactly a dump." 

"Maybe it's not, but you seem too nice for this place anyway." Sheryl's Enemy shrugs. "So? What is it?"

Patrick still doesn't know what that means either (too nice for this place?), but he sighs in defeat and answers, "My ex works at the place I used to go to."

"Ouch." Sheryl's Enemy says sympathetically. "Must suck."

"Yeah." Patrick nods. He swears Sheryl's Enemy is leaning closer, but it also could just be his imagination. 

"You're single, though?" He asks Patrick suddenly. 

Patrick frowns. "Um, yes? Why?"

He wonders if this guy is trying to set him up with one of his friends. He's actually had that happen before. And with a complete stranger, too. Yeah, that's definitely what this is. 

"No reason." Sheryl's Enemy shrugs, then gets a weird look and says, "Actually, no. Not no reason. See, I...well-" he bites his lip, and yes, he _is_ getting closer "-well, not to come off as weird or anything, but you're _really fucking cute_."

Patrick barely has time to squeak out a " _what?_ " before Sheryl's Enemy has leaned in the final couple inches and is _kissing him_. 

Patrick knows that, by all means, he should be running away as fast as he fucking can. But also, counterpoint: that is not what he's doing. In fact, he's doing quite the opposite. He's _kissing this guy back_. 

It takes him about ten seconds to actually realize what's happening, at which point he pulls quickly away, eyes wide. "Oh, fuck, fuck, I...I think I left the oven on? I have to go?" He curses the fact that everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like a question. 

"Oh." Sheryl's Enemy's face falls, and Patrick winces. He's fucked up. Then Sheryl's Enemy asks, "Can I at least give you my number?"

"Uh...sure?" Patrick replies, wincing again at the blatant question mark at the end of that. 

Sheryl's Enemy nods, grabs a napkin from the dispenser and a pen from his pocket, and scribbles down a number. He hands Patrick the napkin. "Go, uh...check that oven."

It's obvious from his voice that he knows Patrick is lying, which makes Patrick feel even worse because this guy seems genuinely hurt, so before he can have any second thoughts about it, he leans forward and _very very quickly_ kisses the guy again, before turning and running out the door as fast as his legs will carry him. As he gets into his car, he gets one last glimpse of Sheryl's Enemy (he really needs to figure out his real name) staring after him, looking less hurt, but a lot more confused. 

He takes off at way over the speed limit, and concentrates on just getting home. 

~*~

When Patrick opens the door to his apartment, his roommate Pete is laying on the couch, and The Fugitive is loudly playing on the television. Patrick has come back to the apartment just in time to watch Harrison Ford jump off a dam. Wonderful. 

When Pete notices Patrick, he frowns and pauses the movie. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Patrick replies quickly, in a way that makes it all too obvious everything is wrong. "Nothing is wrong. I'm just gonna go lay down for a bit. Maybe forever. What's the difference?"

Pete gets up, sighing. "I've had to share this tiny-ass apartment with you for over a year now, I know when something's fucking wrong. What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost." He pauses. " _Did_ you see a ghost?"

"No, I didn't. Ghosts aren't real, we've been over this." Patrick frowns, trying to walk past Pete to his room, but Pete steps in front of him and blocks the way. 

"Seriously." He says, real concern evident in his voice. "Are you okay?"

"It's a long story." Patrick mutters. 

"Okay. I've got time." Pete crosses his arms, and Patrick knows he's not getting out of this. 

"So." Patrick begins nervously. He doesn't know what to say, so he settles for, "I met someone at the bar." 

Pete's face lights up. "Ooh, really? That's awesome! Tell me about her!"

Patrick winces. Great. This is just off to a wonderful start. 

Pete notices and frowns. "What?"

"Okay, so. Uh." Patrick bites his lip. How does he even begin to explain this? The napkin in his pocket feels like a dead weight. 

Oh, of course. The napkin. 

Patrick takes a deep breath and pulls out the napkin. He hasn't actually looked at it yet, but he unfolds it to reveal a phone number with "Joe" and even a little heart scribbled under it. Well, at least he finally knows the guy's name, but the little heart makes Patrick feel a little sick. 

"You okay?" Pete asks again, sounding even more concerned. 

Patrick inhales sharply and thrusts the napkin at Pete. Pete takes it, looks at the scribbled writing, looks up to Patrick, back to the napkin, and back to Patrick. Patrick feels like he's going to die. He should probably start breathing now. That might help. 

Finally, Pete nods, and says, "Alright, cool."

Patrick almost chokes in surprise, but he's not even sure what he was expecting. "What?"

"I said 'cool'." Pete answers, raising an eyebrow. "You think I give a fuck?"

Patrick looks to the side, avoiding Pete's gaze, then answers, "I mean...no."

"I don't care if you met a girl or a guy as long as you aren't having loud sex when I'm home." Pete deadpans, causing Patrick to go red and turn back to look at him. 

"No, I'm not - I wouldn't-" He stammers, and Pete just laughs and cuts him off. 

"Calm down, man. I'm joking." Then he raises an eyebrow. "So? What happened?"

Patrick goes redder and starts spewing words. "I...well...he came in and I guess...I guess he was flirting with me but I didn't realize until afterwards, and then, I mean...he just kind of leaned in and kissed me and I was freaking out but also I think I was kissing him back? And then I really freaked out and lied and said I forgot to turn off the oven so he gave me his number but he obviously knew I was lying so I felt bad and I kissed him again - like, really fast, Pete, don't get any ideas here - and then I ran out and now I'm here and I'm freaking out. Oh my god." He's pretty sure that all came out in one breath. 

"Aw, that's kinda cute!" Pete says, and Patrick wants to punch him. 

"No!" He exclaims, then grits his teeth. "Well, I mean...I...I'm straight!"

Pete actually laughs. "Uh huh. And I'm the queen of England."

"No, really!" Patrick insists. 

Pete sighs. "Let me get this straight - no pun intended. So, he kissed you."

Patrick nods slowly. "Well...yeah."

"Okay. And you kissed him back?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you enjoyed that?"

"Uh...I don't have to answer that."

"Come on."

Patrick does his best not to scream. "Yes, okay!"

Pete seems satisfied. "And would you say you're attracted to him?"

"I...well..." Patrick doesn't think it's possible for him to get any redder. "I mean..." He inhales, then mutters under his breath, as fast as possible, "Well I mean I guess he looked really nice when he smiled and his eyes were really pretty and I kept staring at them which I guess was weird but he _did_ look really cute and - oh god."

Pete laughs again. "Congratulations. You sure as hell aren't straight."

" _Oh my god_." Patrick whispers, eyes wide. "Oh god. Okay. Fuck."

"Calm down." Pete says. "It's fine. It's not a big deal."

"No, I - I know it's not, but..." Patrick let's out a huge sigh. "I don't know. I'm kind of freaking out here. Can we talk about this in the morning?"

"Yeah, sure. Is it cool if I finish my movie?" Pete asks, cocking his head to the side. 

"Yeah. I don't care." Patrick mumbles, and walks right past Pete to his room. 

He falls asleep in his clothes, and he doesn't remember most of his dreams, but at one point he wakes up around 2 am and the napkin is on his night stand, and from that point on he dreams of blue eyes and nice laughs and kisses and punching a certain bartender in the face.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember you can always send me ideas/prompts! Or just talk to me! I don't care!
> 
> On tumblr: vicesandvelociraptors
> 
> On Instagram: eightdegreesandmadbees


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